The Thief (28 page)

And this time, maybe he didn’t get away.

Gestas should have been caught, not him. She’d led the men to the wood market, but Gestas hadn’t been waiting. She’d barely escaped herself. She’d climbed a wall, scraping and pushing herself up in desperate panic, and fallen into a deserted courtyard.

But just when she’d thought she was safe, Longinus had
opened the gate. When he’d come toward her hiding place, her heart crawled into her throat, cutting off her breath. Then, out of nowhere, a stone from a sling, and he’d run, giving her a moment to dash out the gate and disappear into the maze of streets.

The horns blew the call to evening prayer. Dismas wasn’t coming. If she hadn’t convinced him to continue, he’d be in a crowded wineshop right now, drinking cheap wine and flirting, not thrown in a Roman jail, awaiting . . .

She pressed her cheek against the cold stone. Crucifixion. The whole city believed Mouse and the Greek had killed Thaddeus. No one would believe Dismas when he said it wasn’t him. And Gestas wouldn’t step up to take the blame. But she could. She could save Dismas.

No. They wouldn’t believe you. Be grateful that you escaped with your life.

Was the voice right again? Was there nothing she could do? She waited until dark, then crept home through the half-empty streets, not even stopping to change out of her disguise. It didn’t matter now.

She pushed open the gate. The courtyard was empty, the fire long dead and cold. Cedron was with the Zealots, getting ready for the revolution he was sure had arrived with Jesus.

Jesus. She wrapped her arms around her shivering shoulders. What would he think of a woman like her? His words to the woman caught in adultery echoed in her mind from what seemed like years ago.

Go and sin no more.

If only she’d listened to those words, listened to Dismas when he’d told her to go home, listened to Cedron when he’d told her to trust in the Lord. Now she had no one to turn to. Not Longinus, who had offered to marry her. Not Dismas, her only friend.

Now she must tell Cedron, and then he would hate her.

She dragged her feet to Amit’s empty stall and collapsed into
the filthy straw. She’d tell him where the money had come from all these months. She’d tell him about the priest.

If he threw her out in the street, she deserved it. And if he did the worst—turned her in to the Sanhedrin, to Longinus—well, she deserved that, too. She didn’t deserve mercy from Cedron or anyone else.

At the creak of the courtyard gate, she drew farther into the shadows, wishing she could disappear.

“Nissa?”

She didn’t answer, a lump like a stone lodged in her throat.

Cedron’s uneven steps shuffled closer. “Nissa, what are you doing in there?”

She buried her face deeper into her dirty cloak. Gentle hands pulled at her.

“Nissa, what is it? Why are you dressed like—”

He stopped as she raised her face to his. Her stomach twisted into knots. Now she would lose him, too. “Cedron.” She choked on a breath of air.

His eyes widened and went from her wild hair, her dirty face, down to the men’s tunic and the heavy cloak.

She ran her tongue over her dry mouth. “Cedron. Remember when Abba lost all the rent money at dice. The first time?”

Cedron didn’t answer. He pulled her head covering off, his brow creased at her tied-back hair.

“And Mama, she disappeared for days. We didn’t know if she was coming back.”

He didn’t look at her. His hands closed tight around the coarse fabric.

She had to get it out. “And when she did, she was drunk and slept for a whole day. Do you remember, Cedron?”

She waited, but Cedron didn’t answer. He balled the head covering between his fists.

Her heart sped up. “We didn’t have any food, and Gilad was going to throw us out of the house.” Surely he would understand. He had to.

Cedron stared at the scrap of fabric in his hands. “Longinus caught one of the thieves today.”

She bit down on her lip. “I didn’t know what else to do, Cedron. I—”

“They’re looking for the other one. The Mouse.” He picked up the hem of her tunic, feeling the rough wool with his fingers. “They say he’s quick, the Mouse.” His voice was hard, like soil without rain. “And short, like a boy.”

She didn’t answer.

Cedron ducked his head like he couldn’t stand to look at her. “The Greek and the Mouse.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “The temple thieves . . . the temple murderers . . .” He raised his eyes to her.

The first time he had looked at her with those eyes had been at the Pool of Siloam. If only she could go back to that time. She swallowed a sob. “I tried to stop. When you got your sight, I wanted to. But the priests—and Mama and Abba . . .” She reached for his hands. If only she’d had his faith. Trusted in the Lord, like he’d said.

He stood and turned his back to her. “The job at the laundry?”

She bent double, hiding her face in the dirty straw.

“They killed a man, Nissa.” His voice was flat, his back a rigid line. “You killed a man.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he was going to kill him.”

She felt his shadow looming over her and ducked her head. Abba had hit her so many times for spilling water, for burning food. This time, she deserved it.

But no blow came.

Cedron walked to the courtyard. He kicked a jar that had once held their store of grain. “I should have known, should have seen it.” He expelled a deep breath. “The man, the one they caught—he killed the priest?”

Nissa shook her head. “No. Not him. He’s a good man.”

“A good man?” Cedron turned to her, his face a grimace of disbelief. “A good thief?”

“Yes.” Dismas was good, in his way.

Cedron didn’t look convinced. “Then who killed the priest?”

She told him about Gestas. “It was him. We didn’t know what he was going to do. We didn’t even know he carried a knife.” A shiver passed over her. But she had helped. “Then he found out about me—who I was and where I lived. He said if I told anyone, he’d . . . cut out your eyes, maybe kill you.” He had to believe her.

Cedron scrubbed his hands over his face. “Longinus said he’s keeping him . . . trying to find out about the Mouse, before they . . .”

Nissa’s stomach twisted.
Before they crucify him.

Cedron stiffened. “Does Dismas know where you live? Your name?”

“No. He didn’t want to know, in case . . .”

Cedron’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank God for that, at least.”

She chewed on her lip and tasted blood.
Thank God? Thank Dismas.
“Dismas is a good man. He steals, yes. But he isn’t a murderer. He only got caught because he was giving me a chance to run. We have to help him.” He’d broken his third rule again.
If there’s trouble, every man for himself.
This time it would cost him his life.

Cedron was silent for a long time. “No, Nissa. He taught you to steal. Got you in this mess.” He spit out the word. “We can’t help him.”

Leave Dismas to be killed? “He’s innocent, Cedron.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her, looking very much like Abba. “Of that crime, perhaps. But guilty of others. And what of the other man, Gestas? He got away?”

“Yes.”

“The Sanhedrin wants two thieves. And neither they nor Longinus will rest until they have them.”

“What do you mean?”

Cedron ran a hand through his hair and paced the length of the courtyard. “They want two thieves. We’ll give them Dismas and Gestas.”

Turn Gestas in? “But Gestas knows me. He’ll send them after me.” She’d hoped he’d die with her secret today.

Cedron covered the few steps back to her. “You’ll have to leave Jerusalem.”

“Leave Jerusalem?”

He didn’t look her in the eyes, but nodded.

“And go where?”

“You can go to Mama’s family in Bethany.”

Go to strangers? “We don’t even know them. They won’t—”

Cedron’s jaw hardened. “They’ll have to. They’ll have no choice when you show up.”

“But you’ll go with me, won’t you?” He couldn’t send her away. Not alone.

He crossed his arms. “I can’t leave now.”

Leave the city without Cedron? And desert Dismas after he had saved her life? “No. I can’t.” Her voice rose at the thought of Dismas hanging on a cross. “And what about Dismas? He was good to me.”

“Good to you? Look at what he’s done!” Cedron stepped toward her and raised his hand.

Nissa flinched and covered her head with one arm, sure she’d feel the hammer of his fist.

But Cedron didn’t hit her. A choked cry came from her brother, and warm arms wrapped around her. She buried her face in Cedron’s chest, and he let out a long breath. “Nissa. I’m sorry. I’ve been blind.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. He was her brother again and nothing at all like Abba. “But now it’s my turn to take care of you. And you must do exactly as I tell you.”

Cedron released her and limped toward the gate.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, as he pushed through the door.

He didn’t turn around, and his voice was weary. “I’m going to set a trap.”

Nissa sunk to her knees. Her choices pounded through her head like the slam of the closing gate.

Obey Cedron, escape to Bethany, and let Dismas die for her.

Or turn herself in to Longinus, save Dismas, and be stoned by her own people.

The insistent voice was, for once, silent. This time, she had a choice. And no matter what she chose, someone would die for her sins.

Chapter 25

L
ONGINUS LASHED THE
whip one more time against the thief’s blood-soaked back.

Dismas’s tied hands clawed uselessly at the air. His breath sounded in tortured gasps through the room. “I’m a thief,” he gasped for the tenth time, “but no murderer.”

The sour taste of bile rose in Longinus’s throat. The blood of a criminal had never bothered him before, especially not that of a murderer, but something about this was wrong.

“And your partner?” he demanded. “The small one? What is his name, and where is he?”

“Just Mouse. That’s what I call him,” the Greek choked out—the same story he’d clung to for the past two days. “I don’t know where he lives.”

Longinus threw down the whip and flicked his hand at Marcellus, who stood stiffly next to the prisoner, his face pale. “Untie him. We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

Marcellus hurried to the prisoner and loosed his wrists from the iron spike that jutted from the wall of the cell.

Dismas collapsed on the dirt.

Longinus rubbed his forehead. The Greek was tough, he’d give him that. He wasn’t begging like so many prisoners did. But something about this chafed at him. Most criminals, especially Greeks, were ready to admit their guilt at the first sight of his whip. This man hadn’t.

The Sanhedrin and Pilate wanted both the thieves, and they wanted them now, before the day of preparation for the Passover. Silvanus was gloating, sure the sword would be his. According to Marcellus, most of the men were, too. It was time to admit the Greek wasn’t going to give up his partner. Longinus had four days to find the Mouse.

But he also had to find Jesus.

Jesus had yet to be turned in to the Sanhedrin. Jerusalem was like dry tinder, and Jesus, with his incendiary views, could be the flame that started a revolt. But would he? Was Cedron right? Was Jesus here to start a revolution? The Jesus that Stephen had spoken of didn’t seem to fit with Cedron’s claims.

Pilate knew the danger. When Longinus had reported the capture of the Greek, he’d broached the subject of the Jewish healer. “We need to find this man before his own people do.”

“Worry about your thieves,” Pilate had cut him off. “I’ll worry about the Jews.”

Longinus stomped up the carcer steps and out into the dry heat of an unusually warm and dusty spring day. A legionary hurried toward him. “A man waits for you at the gate. A Jew. He says he has information you want—about the other thief.”

Longinus brushed past him and jogged to the gate. Cedron stood stiffly, his head swiveling to the right and left, his mouth pulled down in a frown. The familiar ache in Longinus’s chest sharpened into desperation. If he could only get out of this city and forget Nissa. Maybe then he’d get some peace.

“Cedron. What do you want?”

Cedron stepped closer. “I can get you the other thief.”

“The boy?”

Cedron’s mouth bent down. “The one who killed the temple priest.”

“I need the one called the Mouse. Are you sure it’s him?”

Cedron’s eyes flicked to the side. “I can get you the man with the dead priest’s dagger and the emerald ring.”

The Jew shifted restlessly from one foot to another. It
wouldn’t be the first time Cedron had lied to him. “Why are you helping me?”

Cedron crossed his arms like he had something to hide. “For the silver.”

I’d be a fool to believe that.
But it was the only lead he had, and with the Sanhedrin and Pilate breathing down his neck, he’d have to follow it.

“When?”

“You’ll have him before Passover.”

Longinus stepped close, his face a handbreadth from Cedron’s. “How can I find him? What is his name?”